


a trois

by polly_perks



Category: Halt and Catch Fire
Genre: Casual Intimacy, Character Study, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9692822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polly_perks/pseuds/polly_perks
Summary: Gordon didn’t notice it until after Joe had gone (the first time, after the truckful of burning computers), but once he did it was impossible to ignore. The way he would insert himself into Gordon’s space, as if calculating the minimum distance between them that would be considered comfortable and professional and then stepping just over that line.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [d2fmeasurement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/d2fmeasurement/gifts).



i. 

Gordon didn’t notice it until after Joe had gone (the first time, after the truckful of burning computers), but once he did it was impossible to ignore. The way he would insert himself into Gordon’s space, as if calculating the minimum distance between them that would be considered comfortable and professional and then stepping just over that line.

It came and went as they separated and reunited, but after a year or so of distance Gordon thinks he can pinpoint when the calculating stopped and when the stepping began. He doesn’t need to remember right now, because no one else will hear the details, but despite it all he finds the memories a pleasant distraction while he waits.

There had been one time, late at night, after Cameron had given one of the filing cabinets a final kick and stalked off to find somewhere to sleep, where Gordon had slid off his chair to lie on the floor. Partially because his back was starting to cramp from sitting for so long, but also because he held some faint hope that doing so would help him think about the problem from a different angle and fix it.

Joe rose from his own chair and crossed the room to sit on the floor by Gordon’s hip. _Everything alright?_ He’d asked. Gordon can’t remember his response, can only remember thinking how odd it was that Joe was inquiring after his personal well-being when all he’d been turning up for weeks were issues without very many results. Whatever he said must have been amusing, because Joe laughed and told Gordon that it was time to go home.

Gordon pressed his hands into his eyes and sat up, groaning that he was so close and if he just gave it another hour or so, he could make it work--

And at that point he had stopped speaking because he had opened his eyes to find Joe a few inches from his face. He hadn’t moved away when Gordon sat up as Gordon expected him to, so they ended up sitting on the floor, face-to-face, close enough that he could see Joe’s eyes flicker down towards his lips when he breathed out suddenly. 

Gordon had shot up off the floor and rushed home at that point, but things were different afterwards. Joe would come up behind Gordon’s chair and lean over his shoulder to gesture at something on his computer screen, or touch Gordon’s shoulder when they were standing side-by-side presumably because he just could.

It’s this, Joe’s general presence around him, that Gordon remembers more than anything else. More than the few bleary nights that he found himself at Joe’s doorstep after a fight with Donna, knowing that Joe would be the only person whose advice would be both highly elaborate and completely useless, more even than the time Joe gripped his shoulders in manic glee after some success or the other and they had almost---

Well. _Now_ he’s remembering it. 

The bell on the door of the cafe jingles when it opens, and this time, the person Gordon is waiting for walks in.

ii.

The knocking on his apartment door is too loud and too fast for it to be Ryan, but Joe can’t think of anyone else who would be so insistent on seeing him in the middle of the day. He squints at the artsy clock on the living room wall, but without numbers on the face all he can do is guess that it’s around 1 in the afternoon. 

He opens the door, and Ryan is talking before he even steps inside.

“I know I wasn’t supposed to come over until a little later but you’re at home all day anyways and I just really need to ask you something--”

“Ryan, relax,” Joe says, sliding into the tone of voice that he uses to answer a question Ryan doesn’t even know he’s asked. He puts a hand on the small of Ryan’s back to guide him inside, but Ryan shakes him off in favor of slamming the door shut behind himself and striding into the room.

“Did you and--I mean, were you--” he stops and takes a deep breath. “Were you and Gordon Clark ever an item?”

Joe can’t stop his mouth from dropping open or his eyebrows from shooting up towards his hairline, but he can prevent Ryan from knowing that his first thought is _How does he know how I felt?_  

“How he felt,” of course, has always been pretty contingent upon how he _feels_ , whether the current Joe thinks the current Gordon is deserving of his affection or scorn. Right now, he can’t tell which end of the spectrum he feels more strongly.

“What did he tell you?” Joe asks. Ryan’s eyes shift away guiltily for a moment, but come back quickly to meet Joe’s.

“Are you hitting on me?” is how Ryan responds, and Joe really can’t stop himself from saying the first thing that comes to mind this time, which is:

“Am I _what_?”

“Hitting on me. Are you?”

Ryan is meeting his eyes directly, arms hanging by his sides, completely open and expecting openness in return. Joe turns away and crosses an arm over his stomach.

“What makes you think I’m hitting on you?”

Ryan follows where he turns his head so that Joe is forced to look at him. “Well, it’s like--when I asked you if you like me that one time, even though you didn’t really ever _answer_ me you asked me out to dinner, and then we went to this, like, fancy Italian place and you paid for my dinner and then you never mentioned it again.” Ryan takes a deep breath and Joe can tell that he’s getting to what he _really_ wants to say.

“And you keep doing that--that thing.”

Ryan is looking at him nervously, waiting for an answer.

“What thing?”

“You know, where you...when I’m doing something, and you’re standing right...when you just--” he cuts himself off with a sigh. He mutters something to himself, rubs a hand over the back of his head with one hand, and Joe reaches out and touches his arm. To his surprise, Ryan grabs Joe’s arm with that hand and shakes it a little.

“This! This thing.”

Joe raises his free hand and flips his palm up as he shrugs, waiting for Ryan to explain further.

He doesn’t. Instead, he grabs Joe’s other arm, rises up onto his toes, and tilts his chin up. Joe can see where this is going, so he closes the distance and lets Ryan kiss him.

Ryan presses forward like he’s looking for something, sliding a hand from Joe’s forearm to his bicep and gripping with trembling fingers. Joe is just about to pull a hand free to cup Ryan’s face when Ryan leans back, eyes fluttering open and searching Joe’s face.

“Did that help at all?” Joe asks in a hushed voice. Ryan steps away but doesn’t withdraw his hands, so he’s holding Joe by the biceps at arm’s length.

“Not really.”

iii.

Gordon had tried to stop him too, at first, even after Cameron had given up. He’d started by calling, leaving voicemails that wound around and around what he wanted to say like Ryan would wrap the phone cord around his forefinger. The last one started circling as all the others had, and then Gordon had cut himself off with a request to meet Ryan for coffee. 

“Hey, Ryan,” Gordon waves him over from the door of the cafe. He’s already found a table with two chairs, and when Ryan sits down he sees that his drink is already half-empty. He folds his hands and waits.

Gordon picks his coffee up, then puts it back down without taking a sip. He’s looking at the door, at the counter, at his mug; everywhere Ryan isn’t. “So how’s it going at the, um, the new job?”

“Working for Joe MacMillan, you mean?” Ryan sees Gordon deflate in the way that most people do when he ignores their attempts at small talk and goes right in on what they _really_ want to say. Joe usually doesn’t, in fact responds with some calm, cryptic statement that makes _Ryan_ deflate instead. He’s still trying to figure out what some of them mean.

“Yeah, that. Working for Joe.”

Ryan sits up in his chair a little straighter and leans forward. “It’s pretty good. Well, it’s sort of good, I mean right now I’m mostly a floater but he seems like he’s got something planned for--” 

“Ryan, listen.” Gordon cuts him off, leaning forward as well and putting his hand palm-down on the table. “I know, okay?”

“Know...what?”

“I know what it’s like. Being chosen by Joe, or whatever it is he does. I know how it feels.” Gordon sounds so much like Cameron had, when she had come to warn him, that Ryan leans back and pauses over what he was going to say.

They’re sitting at a round table, two chairs clustered over to one side so that they’re both facing the counter. Gordon shuffles his closer to Ryan and lowers his voice.

“I know how he makes you feel like the smartest person in the room. Even if it’s already true,” he nods his chin at Ryan in what must be an allusion to their conversation at Joanie’s party. “I know how he makes you feel like you’re invincible if you stand by him and whatever bullshit he’s convinced himself is the next big thing.”

“It’s not bullshit--”

“And,” Gordon says louder, cutting him off again, “I know how he makes you feel like you’re doomed to fail if you do anything _but_ stand by him.”

Ryan feels something cold crawl up the back of his neck.

“But most importantly,” Gordon lowers his voice again. He reaches out and puts a hand on the back of Ryan’s chair, almost like a demonstration. “I know what it’s like to be this close to Joe MacMillan.” His hand shifts to Ryan’s shoulder. “He doesn’t do this with just anyone, but you’re not the first.”

The chair clatters against the floor as Ryan stands up.

“I…”

Gordon is looking at him sympathetically. “You don’t have to come back,” he says. “Just think about it.”

Seconds later, Ryan is pushing open the door, but the warm California sun doesn’t help dispel the block of ice that’s settled at the base of his spine. He unlocks his bike as fast as he can and sets out on a route he’s travelled every day for the past month. Knowing it as well as he does doesn't make him feel proud, today.  


**Author's Note:**

> the order these go in is i, iii, ii. hope you enjoyed & sorry for the wait!!


End file.
